


Ancient Customs

by Jon



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Not Happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:10:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jon/pseuds/Jon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Balin watches as his brother silently and unrequitedly loves Thorin from afar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ancient Customs

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of [spesiria's](spesiria.tumblr.com) Dwalin/Thorin artwork

There is a tale in our ancient customs that when a dwarf finds his life mate, he changes forever.  
  
I noticed such a change in my brother when he first came to realise he loved Thorin. It was a visible change only to the people that knew him best- myself, mother and father- though they tried to brush it off, to hide it and hide from it. There was a light in eyes I never imagined him to ever have when his gaze fell upon our prince, and I noticed how low he bowed when he greeted him- deeper to him than to even the King under the Mountain himself; how he held himself differently when in court and Thorin’s glance fell upon him, and how he in turn held the prince’s eyes for just a second too long.

  
The honour of the dwarves runs deep- deeper and stricter than Men know; to break custom is to break your own family, to thwart your own lineage and House.

  
Which is why when my brother fell in love with Thorin Oakenshield, he could do nought but stand by and watch him- silently vowing never to touch his future king- and crippled in fear of his emotions under the watchful eye of Thror and Thrain who strived to find suitors for the young heir amongst he finest female royalty the dwarves had.  
  
Dwalin never talked to me about ‘it’, as our parents liked to call it- but I watched Dwalin as Thorin began to court. Women from all seven kingdoms became his nightly suitors at the behest of his father and grandfather in order for a mate and future queen to try and be found, and I knew my brother’s heart was breaking steadily inside his thick shell. Only I noticed the cracks. Only I bore witness to him change once again.

  
There is a tale in our ancient customs that sometimes when a dwarf finds a life mate, their paths do not cross in love. This is however rare, and is spoken of in hushed tones; a curse on the life of a dwarf. The one who hurts changes forever.

  
  
After Azanulbizar I watched the embrace they shared- my senses heightened to any sign of a linger too long of a hand on my brothers part, but some traitorous part of me yearning for Thorin to return his feelings.  
  
I yearned for this even unbeknownst to my brother- to have his heart mended by Thorin’s hands holding his in more than friendship and brotherhood- if only to save Dwalin from the inevitable long loneliness which as the days passed, grew on my mind until I begged Dwalin to try and take another. To forget his feelings for our young king.  
  
For all the good it did, I may have asked him to cut his head off.  
  
I held him then, sometimes when the pain got too much and he cried out for me in the night- shaking and sweating, weeping as I never saw him do under any physical hurt. My Dwalin endured impalement on Orc spear, and blows which would crack the skull of any other dwarf.  
  
Being apart from Thorin he could not- but like any other blow, he stood his ground and weathered it as he always had. As the years grew by, Thorin grew in spirit and strength, and kingship passed to him. The final coffin-nail, as Men would say, to any hope my brother had of love with his Thorin. He had a lineage to uphold, a kingdom to restore, a tradition to keep.  
  
But Thorin needed him after his father’s death, and I became… well, we both became his rocks- ever at his side for counsel. Dwalin hid his desires daily, his smiles unending when Thorin was around him, and if they were brothers beforehand, they became closer still. Thorin loved and trusted him like no other, and would have no other to sit at his right hand, to have his back.

 

When we left for the Shire, I spied upon a private moment between them- one that gave me hope that perhaps something was there after all, that perhaps Thorin’s heart would allow itself to bind with Dwalin’s and forego the prohibitions of royalty and duty.

Like brothers they embraced- and Thorin’s eyes closed in contentment beneath the red autumn leaves that marked the pathway out of Ered Luin and down to the West. The sky was a brilliant blue as I had never seen it before at this time of year- but the wind was chill, and Dwalin had his usual paraphernalia of furs and such a thick coat on you’d think he was expecting to freeze as he stood.

But his arms were uncovered, and tenderly Thorin’s hand traced the network of scars there. Dwalin’s eyes were open at this, and he gazed in wonder, trembling slightly, but standing firm against Thorin’s chest.

A giddy, boyish grin spread across his face as Thorin took up his other hand and grasped it close- but with a strange gentleness that wasn’t there before. A quiet smile on his lips- a moment’s hesitation and the hand caressing my brother’s arm stilled. They remained like that beneath the trees. I could see my brother’s face in bliss, but half like a fox caught in a hunter’s light, wondering for the next move, or if he dared to even make one. One kiss, and it would all hang in the balance, even if Erebor was restored. One acknowledgement of love, and their relationship would be forced into tight secrecy forever more.

I watched, and I waited- wanting to cry out a multitude of things, but not daring to break the silence of the perfect moment.

Thorin brought his head to rest against my brother’s, as it had done so many times before against mine and his throughout the years. I can see the look in Dwalin’s eyes still, one of such vigour that seemed to radiate from him. He bit his lips, and even I- who have not taken a lover- knew what it was that he longed to do.

 

Then Thorin drew back. The spell broken. The curse returned.

 

Thorin left my brother that day without a kiss, but still left him guessing on our journey- with a distant look in his eyes and a bedroll placed close by him, which made me think there was something untouched buried within his heart for Dwalin. But if it was there, it was something which he feared, something which would never rise to the surface.

As I saw this my mind was torn between relief and dread. I could return to my brother’s familiar pain and longing and help him through that as best I could, but I was spared the greater worry of my kin’s reactions should they find out about such a union. The snake curled and bit its own tail, the circle winding on as it had done since Dwalin was a young dwarf and Thorin younger still.

 

**

  
He clutched and rocked him, and I knew he felt every rattle and dying moan- the last breaths of the King blending in with my brother’s own aching sobs. Thorin lay cradled gently in his arms, his skin a sickly grey and high above them both were the mountain cliffs, red with the glow of blood in the setting sun.

My brother’s armour was rent, and his knuckledusters shattered on his hand, with many wounds that I wished to attend to splitting his skin- but it was nothing compared to Thorin’s own.

I am old. And I have seen so many young dwarves die around me that in some ways Thorin’s dying moments were nothing new. But still I felt disgusted at the Maker once again, and it being Thorin’s time making my anger build thousandfold, the old frustration boiling within me whenever young ones fall. It should have been me. _It should have always been me_.

I could not fathom it, and my anger overwhelmed me utterly in one blind moment of rage. It has never been in my way to let this out, though, and after a moment in its ebb, my legs found purchase on the uneven ground and I walked over, sinking down on a rock beside them.

Hearing my Dwalin scream was like having my soul ripped apart by the Maker himself.

But through the cacophany, Thorin had a smile on his lips, and it was the smile I’d seen long ago when we left Ered Luin under trees of red, a sickly mirroring of the red on his skin, on my Dwalin’s face and hands.

With the last of his effort, he brought one hand up to rest on Dwalin’s forearm. My brother fumbled to hold it close.

 

**

 

He will heal again, someone said to me, years after Thorin’s death. My brother now sits at the King’s table and is silent, though in older times he would be the first up with his fiddle and a song on his lips. I noticed the change. Everyone in the old Company has, but few even speak of it. Even with his death, to talk about the love Dwalin had and lost is still taboo.  


Healing is rare. It is almost unheard of in Longbeard culture that once this is upon them, a dwarf will recover fully.

There is a tale in our ancient customs that without the heart being healed quickly by another, only the sharp axe of death awaits.


End file.
